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It had been eight days since Eloise last wrote to her. Eight long days of silence that felt heavier with each passing hour.
Twelve days since Daphne had last sent her cheerful notes, filled with chatter about balls and suitors, the kind of gaiety that now felt like a foreign language to her.
And twenty days, twenty seemingly-endless days, since she had seen or heard anything of Lord Bridgerton.
Not that she could fault him.
She blamed no one but herself.
She had been a fool. A rather obvious one. She, who prided herself on her ability to discern truth behind even the most polished facades, had been thoroughly deceived. And worse, she had deceived herself.
Lord Fife had seemed so dazzling, so persuasive. His promises had painted a vision of a life she had never dared to dream of, one of adventure, passion, and freedom, as Lady Fife. She had been giddy with the notion, carried away by the poetry of it all, by the heady sense of being seen.
But she would not be Lady Fife.
Even after courting her in the most public, almost scandalously conspicuous manner, Lord Fife had chosen another. Miss Amelia Fox. A debutante of impeccable breeding and a dowry that eclipsed nearly every other eligible lady of the ton, save perhaps the Bridgerton sisters themselves.
Her chest tightened at the memory of it.
The murmurs in the ballroom as the news spread. The pitying glances that lingered just a little too long. The whispers that followed her like shadows. She had fled the scene that night, her cheeks burning and her eyes stinging, but she couldn’t outrun the truth.
Lord Fife hadn’t simply rejected her, he had undone her. Every stolen glance, every sweet nothing, every promise of a future, it had all been a lie. A performance.
The quiet of her room was suffocating now, her only company the mocking echo of her own thoughts.
Outside, the world carried on, but here, in her bedroom, time seemed suspended, holding her captive to her humiliation.
She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Perhaps she had already shed them all. Or perhaps her heart had simply hardened, determined never to be so easily broken again.
It was her own fault, she reminded herself.
She had dared to believe in the impossible, in a version of life that had never truly been hers to claim. Lord Fife had simply reminded her of what she should have known all along. There was no room for fantasy in a world ruled by pragmatism, by fortune, and by name.
It had been something of a scandal. The kind the ton thrived upon.
The collective gasp that rippled through the ballroom when Lord Fife had bent his knee still echoed in her ears. For he did not kneel before her, but before Miss Fox. She could almost feel the weight of a hundred eyes on her, their pity cutting sharper than any blade.
And the look on her face, it must have betrayed her.
Shock. Heartbreak. Humiliation.
She had tried to compose herself, to summon the cool indifference the ton so admired, but her body had betrayed her, stiffening like a puppet with its strings cut off.
The only mercy that night, if it could be called that, was Lord Bridgerton’s absence. Had he been there, he might have seen the full spectacle of her downfall, the way her life had crumbled into public ruin.
Not that it would have mattered to him. He, no doubt, would have thanked the heavens that his brief courtship with her had been so conveniently severed by his urgent duties in Kent.
How convenient, indeed.
Now, with enough days separating her from that fateful night, Kate could finally see things with clearer eyes.
Time, it seemed, had a way of stripping the gilding from even the most cherished illusions.
She had not truly been in love with Lord Fife. She had simply been swept away by the novelty of his attention, the heady allure of being desired, particularly in Lord Bridgerton’s absence.
And how foolish she had been.
With the gold-tinted lenses removed, she could see it all now. Her own behavior, it had been reckless and childish, so unworthy of the composure she had always prided herself on. She had allowed herself to be blinded by flattery, to revel in Lord Fife’s empty promises while ignoring the whispers of her own better judgment.
No wonder she had heard nothing from the Bridgertons. No letters. No invitations. No calls. They must be relieved, overjoyed even, to have extricated themselves from her tangled mess. She could almost imagine them laughing together, raising a toast to the good fortune that had spared their family from association with her folly.
And she couldn’t blame them.
If she had been in their position, she might have done the same.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stood by the window, watching the gray sky stretch endlessly above the rooftops. The day was bleak, the kind that made the world feel as though it were holding its breath. Perhaps it was fitting.
There was no denying it now. She had been wrong about so much.
Not just about Lord Fife, but about herself. The pain of that realization was sharper than any heartbreak.
The distant sound of hooves striking the frozen ground broke through her pitiful reverie.
She frowned, turning toward the window. A lone rider approached, his figure unmistakable even at a distance. Her breath caught, and she stepped back instinctively as the realization dawned.
It was Lord Bridgerton.
Anthony.
Her heart began to race, a confused mixture of hope, dread, and disbelief coursing through her veins. She forced herself to steady her breathing, though her hands gripped the back of a chair as if for support.
When he dismounted and strode toward the door, she was certain her mouth fell open. What on earth could bring him here?
She still hurried down to the drawing room.
“Lord Bridgerton?” she managed when he was ushered in by the butler, her voice tinged with both incredulity and hesitation. Perhaps this was all a dream, a cruel trick her mind had conjured.
He inclined his head, his expression grave, though his eyes held the promise of something else entirely. “Miss Sharma, I came as soon as I could.”
Her mind reeled.
Why?
Why did he even come? To deliver the final blow? To tell her, in person, that the Bridgertons wanted nothing to do with her after the scandal she had brought upon herself? She already knew that, thank you very much.
“For what purpose, my lord?” she asked, a touch sharper than she intended. “Surely you have heard of my fall from grace.” Her voice trembled on the last words despite her attempt to sound indifferent.
“I have,” he said, his jaw tightening. “But I do not care about that, Miss Sharma. I only care about you.”
The words hung in the air, like a heavy fog.
She blinked, stunned into silence, her grip on the chair tightening. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he said, his voice impassioned. He stepped closer, their bodies close to touching, his gaze filled with sincerity. “Lord Fife’s behavior was unconscionable. The man should have been called out for his cowardice and cruelty. It is he who has fallen from grace, not you, Miss Sharma. Never you.”
His words pierced something deep within her, something brittle and fragile.
She had heard nothing but scorn and whispers from everyone around her. Not even Mary or Edwina had defended her, choosing instead to counsel her on how best to salvage what little remained of her reputation.
But here he was, this man who owed her nothing, standing before her with fire in his eyes and words that burned through the frost of her despair. It made something within her shift, softening and melting like ice under the first touch of spring.
“Why would you say such things?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you even care what happens to me, my lord?”
His gaze never wavered, the intensity in his expression making her feel both vulnerable and seen. “Because you matter to me, Kate. You always have.”
Her heart stuttered, a pang of something too sharp, too sweet coursing through her. It was all too much. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words refused to come.
Instead, she stared at him, caught between disbelief and the undeniable truth reflected in his eyes. The faint stirrings of hope in her heart was as welcome as it was unwelcome.
“Kate,” He said, his voice softer now, as though her name were something fragile he was afraid to break. “I should have come sooner. I should never have left for Kent.”
She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his. “You had your responsibilities. It was perfectly reasonable.”
“No,” he cut in, his tone resolute. “It wasn’t. I told myself it was duty that called me away, but the truth is that I was a coward.” He exhaled sharply, like the words had cost him something. “I knew what I felt for you was beyond anything I had ever known. And instead of facing it, I ran. But leaving you was the worst mistake I have ever made.”
Her breath caught, her heart hammering in her chest as his words settled over her.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if she could speak.
Lord Bridgerton stepped closer, his dark eyes searching hers, his expression open and vulnerable in a way she had never seen before. “When I heard what happened with Fife, I was furious. Not at you, never at you, but at him. At myself. I should have been here to protect you. I should have told you the truth before it was too late.”
“The truth?” she managed, her voice trembling.
“That I love you, Kate.” His words came without hesitation, steady and sure. “I love you, and I think I always have. Even when I tried to deny it. Even when I told myself it would never work. You are everything I have ever wanted but never thought I deserved.”
She stared at him, her heart soaring and breaking all at once. Could it really be true? Could he truly mean it?
“You must not say such things,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes, “if you do not-”
“I can. And I will,” he interrupted her gently. “Because I’ve wasted too much time already. And I refuse to waste another moment pretending I don’t want you in my life, as my equal, my partner, my wife.”
Her breath hitched, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
His words, they were so raw and honest, struck her to her very core. She felt her walls crumbling, the ones she had built to keep herself safe, to keep herself from hoping too much.
“I thought I was nothing to you,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “After you left, after everything that happened, I thought-”
“You are everything to me,” he said, taking her hands in his. His touch was warm, grounding her as her world tilted. “You always have been.”
The sincerity in his gaze was too much.
She let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping freely now. “Do you realize how utterly ridiculous you sound?”
A smile tugged at his lips, his eyes shining with happiness. “I do. But I would rather be ridiculous and honest than lose you.”
Kate let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking her head as she looked down at their joined hands. When she looked up again, her smile was trembling but radiant. “You really are a fool if you think you can ever lose me.”
“Good,” he said, grinning now, the tension in the room breaking like sunlight through clouds.
Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but when his arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer, she felt the strength, the certainty in his embrace.
When they finally parted, their foreheads resting against each other, she whispered, “I love you too, Anthony. Even when I thought I shouldn’t, I did. I do.”
His smile was brilliant, his eyes lighting up with a joy that made her heart ache in the best way. “Then marry me, Kate. Let me spend the rest of my life proving to you just how much I love you.”
She laughed, tears still shining in her eyes as she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He pulled her close again, holding her tightly as though he never intended to let go.